Dangerous Secrets by Lisa Marie Rice Page A

undercover work is to stay in character, even inside your own head. Especially inside your own head. He’d been carrying on an internal monologue all this time and if he’d been chatting with someone a little less harmless than Charity Prewitt—with, say, Guillermo Gonzalez, who’d shoot a hole in anyone’s head at the least suspicion that someone was double-crossing him, blow your kneecap out for the hell of it and your elbow off for target practice—then he’d have been a goner.
    This never happened. Ever. Nick was as focused as the laser beam that every morning was aimed at the window of Worontzoff’s study. Always. As a soldier and now as a member of the Unit.
    He had to get his head out of his ass and pretend he was dead from the belt buckle down from now on.
    Charity turned her head to the big picture windows. Snow had started gently falling, dusting the big spotlit evergreens in the sloping lawn outside the restaurant, a scene straight out of a Christmas card. She sighed and pushed away her half-eaten tiramisú. She dabbed her mouth with the big linen napkin and placed it on the table.
    She needn’t have bothered wiping her mouth. Nick couldn’t even imagine her being sloppy with her food. Her moves were all so graceful, just watching her was a pleasure.
    Head. Out. Of. Ass. If he kept repeating it enough to himself often enough, it might just happen.
    “Nick.”
    His head snapped up. She’d pushed back from the table, body language clear. Oh God, he hadn’t pumped her at all for enough intel on Worontzoff. Again, at the word pump , his cock leaped in his pants.
    Jesus.
    He let his left hand drop to his lap, wondering whether he should surreptitiously pinch himself. Maybe if he hurt himself enough, it’d go down.
    “Yeah?”
    She smiled at him. “It’s starting to snow. I don’t have snow tires, so I should get to my car before the streets become too slick.”
    A drop of sweat ran down his back. He didn’t want this evening to end. Of course, he hadn’t gotten as much infoas he wanted, but he also…didn’t want the evening to end. This was the nicest evening he’d spent in…shit. Since before the Gonzalez job, which had lasted a year. And before that had been Afghanistan. We were talking years, here.
    He relaxed his face. “I’ll drive you home, don’t worry. And I have snow tires and they’re brand-new. We can still have coffee. Or would you like a brandy?”
    Her eyes were so clear, it was like looking into limpid pools of water. That pale pink mouth tilted up. “That’s very nice of you to offer, but I’ll need my car tomorrow. So if you’ll just drive me back to the library, that’ll be fine.”
    With bad tires? Nick balked. No way.
    But that pretty, pointed little chin looked just a little stubborn so he couldn’t just say, Hell no, I’m not letting you drive home in lousy weather with the wrong tires. Much as he’d like to.
    He glanced out the window himself. The snow was falling more thickly now. He turned back to her.
    “Tell you what. I really like my java after a meal. Offer me a cup of coffee at your house and I’ll not only drive you home, but I’ll stop by in the morning, pick you up, and drive you back to the library.”
    She blinked. A moment of uncertainty.
    Nick was really good at finding even small chinks to make people do what he wanted. It was a gift and he’d had it forever. He leaned forward.
    “Please,” he said softly. “I really can’t stand the thought of you driving home alone in the dark in bad weather with the wrong tires. My mom drummed that sort of thing into my head and she’d turn over in her grave if I let you do it. And I’d just drive right behind you to make sure you got homesafely, anyway, so you’d be doing me a big favor if you’d let me drive you home.”
    Charity gave a half laugh. “Well, if you put it that way….”
    “I do. And you just tell me when you want me to pick you up and drive you to the library to get your car